


sink, and surrender

by gazing



Category: Grace and Frankie (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Caretaking, Domestic Fluff, F/F, Fluff, Intimacy, Romance, Short & Sweet, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-15 06:46:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29929494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gazing/pseuds/gazing
Summary: In which Frankie washes Grace’s hair.
Relationships: Frankie Bergstein/Grace Hanson
Comments: 3
Kudos: 19





	sink, and surrender

"I'm sorry, Grace." Frankie murmurs.

Grace leans her head back on the side of the bath, just so she can give Frankie an amused glance. The water is warm enough that she's soothed right down to her bones, bubbles tickling the underside of her neck, and so she can't find it in herself to be irritated. She even smiles, despite the fact that flour is still tangled in her hair, making her look grey and pale.

Frankie had ran her a bath, as an apology. _Impromptu food fights_ , she'd said, _they never turn out well._

"If you're really sorry, you'll leave me to bathe in peace." Grace says. Frankie shifts from foot to foot, ever apologetic.

The more time they've lived together the more considerate Frankie has grown of her, and her boundaries. Nowadays when she crosses them there are apologies, and gifts, and Grace returns them when she's too harsh and too distant towards Frankie in the harder days.

"Sure, yeah." Frankie gives her a crooked smile, and her eyes linger on Grace's naked shoulder blades. They have been in more compromising situations before, but still Grace flushes. She's exposed and she hadn't realised it, until Frankie's eyes had skimmed across her frame. "That's a lot of flour, though."

"I'll manage, Frankie." Grace sighs, though right now her limbs have melted with heat and relaxation she can't imagine herself moving.

Frankie pauses and looks at her again. Grace sinks deeper under the bubbles, safe, warm, comfortable, even as her heart pounds. Frankie has never been shy showing her body. But it's Grace lying here, her face bare, as condensation lingers on the wall tiles. It's surprisingly easy to be this open with Frankie, despite the nerves crawling on her skin. Easier, perhaps, than it has been with anyone else.

"You know, I could help." Frankie says. Grace notices there's a lump of butter on her shirt, and feels a wave of affection. "Wash your hair, I mean. Get those pesky knots out."

It's an enticing idea. Grace imagines Frankie's warm hands in her hair, running through the strands, holding back her head, and swallows.

"I'm not a child, Frankie." Grace says primly.

"I know that." Frankie says quickly. "But I want to make it up to you. And everyone needs to be taken care of, once in a while."

"You can't be serious."

"When was the last time someone washed your hair for you?" Frankie asks. There's a knowing glint in her eyes. "None of your boyfriends did, did they? And _Robert_ definitely didn't."

The more Frankie tries to convince her, the more appealing the idea is, a fantasy warm in their bathroom.

"Well, I-" Grace bites her lip.

"You'll never be able to get all of this out by yourself." Frankie says, gesturing to Grace's hair. "It won't take long. Promise."

Within Grace, her longing to be held under Frankie's hands and her fear of intimacy conflict. But Frankie is right - none of her lovers have ran their fingers tenderly through her damp hair.

So, with pink cheeks, Grace gives a curt nod.

"Go on then." She says dismissively, as if her stomach isn't turning over, "Get it over with."

Frankie's smile widens and sparkles as she kneels down beside the bath. Grace turns her eyes to the wall, where she traces each bathroom tile. She is nervous, painfully so, because in this moment Grace is completely vulnerable. At the first touch of Frankie's fingers on her head she shivers.

"I've never seen so much flour." Frankie laughs gently. She runs her fingers gently through Grace's hair, which hasn't yet been rinsed - her touch is more subtle, more delicate than Grace had imagined. She's been inclined to see Frankie as clumsy, fumbling. But she never is, when it matters.

"And who's fault is that?" Grace asks. Frankie laughs again and dips one of the bath cups into the warm water, before letting it cascade over Grace's head. The warm water runs over her hair, down her back.

"Technically," Frankie says, pouring more water over Grace's head. It spills warmly over the back of her neck. "You started it."

It's true. Grace, in an uncharacteristically reckless moment, had smeared a little cake mix on Frankie's cheek. She had started a war. They were only meant to be baking a cake for Sol's birthday.

"You poured an entire bag of flour on me, Frankie!"

"Tit for tat." Frankie says, and Grace can hear the laughter still bubbling in her throat.

There's a lull when Frankie finishes pouring water over her head. There's a soft noise, and Grace thinks it must be Frankie getting the shampoo. 99% of this shampoo, Frankie had boasted, originates from nature.

"Here's the good part." Frankie says, and there's a shock of cold when the shampoo touches Grace's hair.

But then Frankie's fingers spread it, right down to the tips of the hair. When she begins to massage it into Grace's scalp, pressing slightly as she does so, Grace feels a wave of warmth and her eyes flutter shut without being asked. Her muscles untangle and unwind in the warm water just as her hair does, under Frankie's fingers.

"Lean your head back a little." Frankie murmurs. When Grace doesn't budge she tilts Grace's head back, against the side of the bath, and Grace feels another wave of heat. "There we go."

Her hands are insistent, purposeful. Each touch pleases Grace and soothes her more, and more. With her eyes closed she's vaguely aware of her own vulnerability - she lays melted in Frankie's hand. But she's so relaxed she hardly notices it. Hazy, as if before sleep, but completely aware of how Frankie touches her. The one, grounding point of contact.

With two gentle hands Frankie lifts Grace's head from the side of the bath.

"I'll rinse it out now." Frankie says. It's endearing, how she says what she's doing, how she speaks with her mouth and her hands. "Keep your eyes closed, honey."

Grace complies as hot water spills over her head, again, soothing her completely. If her eyes opened she would see Frankie's smile, soft and awed, but she does not - she's completely caught in peace, sensation, and it dawns on her that Frankie is taking care of her the way none of her lovers ever have.

She always does, Grace thinks.

There's another shock of cold, but Grace doesn't register it as being conditioner. She's pulled towards dozing, but she could never sleep, not now, not when nerves still swirl warmly in her stomach.

"You're quiet." Frankie says conversationally, massaging the conditioner into Grace's hair.

Grace hums.

"This is lovely." She finds herself admitting, in the dazed, honeyed haze that Frankie has inflicted on her. It's as if she were drunk on wine. Intimate admissions are easy and natural as breathing, in the warm bathroom.

"I told you I was going to take care of you." Frankie says. "You always underestimate me, Grace."

The silence is easy, comfortable. It's as if they've done this a thousand times before. Frankie pours warm water over her head again, rinsing out the excess conditioner, and once the process of washing and rinsing is completed Frankie untangles each and every knot in Grace's hair with her fingers.

"There." Frankie says quietly, almost in a whisper, as if she thinks Grace will be snapped from the spell that's been cast on her if she speaks any longer.

Grace keeps her eyes closed, longing for Frankie not to stop, to stay there forever as warmth and closeness envelops them. There's only the sound of Frankie's heavy breathing in the bathroom, until Grace feels Frankie's hands in her hair again.

"Are you asleep?" Frankie asks, her fingernails scraping along Grace's scalp. It's a gorgeous, ticklish sort of feeling.

"Yes." Grace sighs, a smile twitching on her lips, and Frankie scolds her by tapping her on the top of the head lightly with her palm.

"Oh. You just looked so... comfortable." Frankie pauses. She runs her fingers along Grace's forehead, her fingertips damp on Grace's skin. "Look. No frown lines."

"I am comfortable." Grace says. It's another intimate admission, but it doesn't feel like one. The moment feels like a daydream.

"I'm so glad, Grace." Frankie says, sincerely, and it melts Grace's heart.

She expects Frankie's fingers to thread through her hair again, so when they brush it away from her shoulder, Grace is surprised. Her hands are gentle when they skim across Grace's bare shoulder, feather light touches, like kisses.

When Frankie leans down and presses a kiss to her shoulder, Grace's eyes flicker open. She hears her heartbeat in her ears, all of a sudden, a relentless pulse. She goes to speak, but another kiss on her shoulder makes her stop.

"Sh, it's okay. Trust me." Frankie whispers. "Close your eyes. I'm going to take care of you."

So Grace, helpless, slips further under the water. Her eyes flutter shut once more, and when Frankie turns her light kisses to Grace's neck, Grace feels pleasure linger on the spaces Frankie kisses her.

Grace's submission seems to admire confidence in Frankie. Her kisses become more insistent, against Grace's damp neck, warm and close. Almost _too_ close. With only silence and the sound of Frankie's lips the air in the bathroom feels heated, and unbearably intimate. Now, Grace should say no, no, but she doesn't want to.

Frankie reaches her jaw. She tucks a lock of damp hair behind Grace's ear and her kisses are unlike anything Grace has ever felt before. Care, warmth, sweetness, they melt Grace with just one touch of Frankie’s mouth.

And then Frankie tilts Grace face towards her, and kisses her lips.

Her mouth is warm, soft, wet. Grace makes a noise of surprise and pleasure in her throat. Though she’s startled Frankie’s kiss cares for her, as her hands had done - and each purse of her lips unravels any uncertainty Grace might have and leaves her melting, soothing, sinking deeper into the hot water.

It should be too much, Grace thinks hazily. It should be too far for their friendship, it should be a boundary crossed, an unspoken promise broken.

But the kiss is just an extension of intimacy. There’s a small voice that whispers _she’s a woman_ , but a larger, more insistent part of Grace just wants to be kissed. And if it is by the person she adores most in the entire world, well, that is simply an added bonus. An unexpected gift, but one Grace treasures.

And it is a gift, the way Frankie kisses her deeper, her hands on Grace’s cheeks. Grace has never been so completely comfortable, when kissed - she has always felt obligated to perform, to act sexy, to entice the men in her life to want her more. Here, though, Frankie kisses as if her singular purpose is to please Grace, and be pleased in return.

Frankie’s neck must hurt, by how she’s leaning down to reach Grace’s face. Grace breaks the kiss, her cheeks dark red.

“That was- new.” Grace breathes, and a small smile flickers on her face. Even now she is relaxed. Frankie just looks at her, as raw and vulnerable and intimately open as Grace is.

“Yeah.” Frankie says. She matches Grace’s smile with a tentative one of her own. “I haven’t ruined it, right?”

By _it_ Grace knows she means their friendship, their companionship, their home. They’ve built it through a rollercoaster of turmoil and grief and closeness. And Grace knows it. She would never have let Frankie go any further if she’d thought it could break what they’ve built together.

Frankie’s hand is on the edge of the bath. Grace covers it with one of her own.

“No, Frankie.” Grace says, another confession. Frankie looks at her, pink in the cheeks too, each of them intimately embarrassed. “It’s fine, it’s-“

_Perfect._ Home.

“Grace.” Frankie swallows. “It’s just I- I always want to take care of you.”

It’s a love confession, in not as many words.

“I know.” Grace murmurs. “I want to take care of you too.”

Frankie smiles. Grace reached forward, lazy and slow even now, and brushes stray strands of hair away from Frankie’s face.

Intimacy, reciprocated.


End file.
